


not a metaphor of what we really could be

by steveandbucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Non-Linear Narrative, Partners in Crime, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Road Trips, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:13:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26145439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steveandbucky/pseuds/steveandbucky
Summary: Two ex-SHIELD agents are on the run from half a dozen national and international agencies; they decide to run together.
Relationships: Sharon Carter/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	not a metaphor of what we really could be

**Author's Note:**

> i made a [moodboard](https://the-hoziest.tumblr.com/post/627634607138979840/not-a-metaphor-of-what-we-really-could-be-two) and a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6ZRBrcZkylrI52yGcsJ1Yr?si=upfpbI7BRZuxaY86mo-OYw) because i spent more time procrastinating than writing. 
> 
> massive thanks to [@martelldoran](https://martelldoran.tumblr.com/) for helping me edit!!!! she's great go read her fics

**_D.C., 2014_ **

Rogers turns to go inside his apartment, and Sharon waits a moment before she unlocks her door and goes back inside. She shuts the door with her foot, balancing her laundry basket against one hip, pulling her phone out of her scrubs’ pocket to send off a quick text.

_ “Oh my God. Did you sic Rogers on me?” _

Natasha replies within minutes.  _ “Sic? Come on, he’s like an overgrown puppy.” _

Sharon can almost hear her snickering. She shakes her head.

_ “He’s my aunt’s old flame you asshole that’s gross.” _

_ “Consider it revenge for Panama ;)” _

_ “I hate you.” _

Sharon puts her phone down and tries not to smile as she remembers that particular mission and the less-than-pleasant situation Natasha had found herself in thanks to Sharon’s plotting.

Still, she can’t not retaliate. She grabs her towel and heads towards the shower, her best thinking place. 

Then she hears the gunshots. 

  
  
  
  


**_PRESENT_ **

Next time Sharon sees her, it’s on the motorway somewhere in rural Germany. 

She’s not exactly sure where exactly they are. She’s rarely left Berlin since starting her new job there, but now she’s glad to be away from the city - the truth is she’s scared. She’s never been on the run before.

The nerves in her stomach ease a little when she sees Natasha, in her heeled boots and brown leather jacket, sitting on the rails on the edge of the highway, next to a black Ducati. 

It’s the dark brown hair, cropped into a short bob, that makes Sharon’s eyebrows rise in surprise, the corners of her mouth curving into a half-smirk. "Nice hair.”

Natasha grimaces, tugging at the strands at the nape of her neck. “It’s a wig. A bad one.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“I look like somebody’s mom.”

Sharon grins. “A hot mom, maybe.”

Natasha crosses her arms against her chest. “Are you calling me a MILF, Carter?”

“Don’t be gross, Romanoff.” Sharon turns her gaze to the bike, then back to Natasha, giving her a questioning look. 

“It’s fast.” Natasha shrugs. She walks over to the bike and straddles it, starting the engine.

“What, no helmet? What if your wig flies off?”

Natasha flips her off, then revs the engine. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Sharon sighs, defeated, and climbs on the back of the motorcycle. She wraps her arms around Natasha’s middle, she whispers close to her ear, “Don’t get us killed.”

“I’ll do my best,” says Natasha, and then they’re off, speeding down the highway, heading east.

  
  
  
  
  


**_VILNIUS, 2008_ **

“It should be grapefruit.”

Natasha lets her head fall back, hitting the wall of the closet they’re in with a soft thud. “A code word cannot be so generic that you might mention it at brunch.”

Sharon snorts a laugh. “How about...passionfruit?”

“Does it  _ have _ to be a fruit?” The redhead asks. “Or are you just hungry?”

“I’m starving. My almond stash ranout three hours ago.”

Natasha smiles softly. “How long do dinner parties take? Figure we’ll be out in time for a midnight trip to McDonald’s?”

“Somehow, I doubt it.”

Their intel was seriously off. The house was  _ supposed  _ to be completely empty, with the entire family off to Bali for their summer holiday, and since it was Sunday, the staff had the day off, too. Turns out even international drug lords were kind to their maids and gardeners.

So, after disabling the alarm and the security cameras, they were supposed to have a solid five hours to peruse and gather intel to help build the case against the target. They’d even managed to get the safe in his office open, and come across a myriad of documents and folders. 

Now, it’s 10PM, and they’ve been stuck in the closet of one of the guest rooms, unable to make a break for it without raising suspicion. They’d got the message out that they’re trapped, and Fury had dispatched the extraction team, but given that they were flying out of D.C., it was taking them a while. 

“I got it.” Sharon grins, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

“You got a plan for getting us out of here?”

“No.” Sharon nudges Nat’s foot with her own. “Our code word.  _ Princess Consuela Banana-Hammock.  _ It’s from  _ Friends _ , so people will think you’re just making a pop culture reference.”

“I’d rather be shot in the head than voluntarily reference  _ Friends _ .”

“Wow, dramatic much?”

Natasha shrugs. “It’s homophobic.”

“It was the 90’s!" Sharon cries, her voice just a little too loud to be safe. “ _ Everything _ was homophobic.”

“Fine, Princess Consuela Banana-Hammock it is. Can we talk about something else?”

Sharon laughs. “You wanna play twenty questions again?”

“Not if Fury’s eye patch is the object of your choice.”

Sharon laughs again, and they fall silent.

She’d have been fine getting stuck here with any of her colleagues, but somehow she doubts she’d be having as much fun. Who knew Natasha Romanoff was so witty and funny? And charming, and snarky, and brilliant - well, Sharon knew that part. She’d been excited to be paired with such an amazing agent, if a little intimidated. Natasha was fierce, and survived the goddamn KGB, for crying out loud. Sharon felt - insignificant, compared to her. 

Faintly, they could hear the chatter of the guests downstairs; the clink of champagne glasses and the smooth sound of jazz. Then suddenly, in the distance, sirens. 

The two of them share a look. “God, I hope that’s not for us,” says Natasha.

It was. The extraction team, posing as local police investigating a bomb threat, evacuate the house. In the commotion, Sharon and Natasha make their escape out the window and a SHIELD agent leads them to the back garden, behind the poolhouse, and over the six-foot tall fence. 

Two black cars wait for them. Coulson and three other operatives stand nearby.

“So, that was a total bust,” says Natasha, fixing Coulson with her fiercest glare.

He smiles, unbothered. “It happens. Ready to go?”

“Actually, can we make a stop first?” asks Sharon.

They can hardly keep a straight face as the driver pulls up to the little window and grabs their burgers, fries and milkshakes, passing everything back to them through the tinted partition.

Sharon moans around a mouthful of her Big Mac - mainly for show, because she has better self control than that.

“Good, right?” she asks, turning to Natasha.

The redhead sips her chocolate milkshake and nods enthusiastically. “ _ Now _ we can go,” she says to Coulson, flashing him a charming grin.

  
  
  
  
  


**_PRESENT_ **

They ditch the bike once they cross the border into Poland.

Sharon hot wires a beat up Mazda they find in an abandoned garage full of old, dusty cars, and they drive to Krakow. They check into a small bed and breakfast, using a fake ID Natasha found in her wallet; she’d almost forgotten she had it. 

Two beds with floral bedspreads, a nightstand with a lamp that doesn’t work, and fraying wallpaper with yellow stains from water damage.

“Lovely,” Sharon mutters under her breath. 

Nat shrugs. “It’ll do.”

There’s a twinge of guilt in her chest, and Sharon turns towards her. “Thank you.”

“For?”

Sharon shrugs. “I don’t know where I’d be-” she pauses, and reconsiders. “Just - thanks for helping me.”

The sincerity in her tone makes Natasha turn away, avoiding her gaze. “Don’t mention it. We’re in this together, right?” She gives Sharon a small smile, shrugging off her jacket, and climbs on the bed.

“Misery loves company,” Sharon quips back with a cheeky grin.

Neither of them get much sleep that night, and it’s not because of the couple next door having really loud sex. The noises they make are so loud and dramatic, reminiscent of bad pornography, which just makes them burst into a fit of hysterical giggles every so often. When they eventually quiet down, however, all it takes is one look to start them off laughing again. It’s not even the drunk party-goers filtering in and out of the nightclub across the street, shouting and laughing and singing. Sharon doesn’t understand a word they’re saying; Natasha translates here and there, when she catches a word she recognises. There’s nothing of substance there, anyway.

“Did you ever think you’d end up here?”

“Do you mean, on the run from the CIA?” Natasha asks. “Or on the run from the UN?”

Sharon snorts. She’s lying on her side, eyes on her friend in the bed next to hers. “Both. Either.”

“I’d have to say no,” Natasha sighs. “Did you?”

“I’m still recovering from the whole HYDRA debacle, to be honest.”

Nat hums. “Aliens in New York.”

“Alright, you win.” Sharon rolls her eyes and Natasha laughs.

  
  
  
  
  


**_D.C., 2009_ **

Sharon’s stretched out on her couch, a fleece blanket draped over her, flipping through the channels on her TV for something to watch. Her options are infomercials, the 24 hour news channel, or bad TV movies. She yawns, though she’s not sleepy. She’d been in Switzerland for a week, having landed at Newark Airport only hours ago, and is still experiencing the worst jet lag of her life.

Her phone buzzes with the arrival of a new text message, and she reaches out to grab it. There’s not many people who text her at 4AM.

_ “I’m mad at Fury.” _

Sharon raises an eyebrow at her screen and quickly types out a reply.  _ “Why?” _

_ “He’s making me babysit Tony Stark.” _

“Yikes,” Sharon mutters to herself. She sends off another message.  _ “I have wine. If you want to come over.” _

_ “I would if I wasn’t in Malibu :(“  _ Natasha texts back, and then, _ “How much wine? Might snatch a bottle or two from Stark’s cellar :)” _

_ “You absolutely should. Next Friday, my place?” _

_ “It’s a date.” _

  
  
  
  


**_PRESENT_ **

They’ve been on the road for four hours. Natasha is driving, whizzing past the landscapes of rural Poland, probably well above the speed limit, but there’re hardly any cars in either lane. 

They’ve put the radio on, albeit at a low volume; just for the background noise, really, to fill the silence. 

“I’m sorry,” Natasha says, eyes trained on the road ahead, and perhaps that’s why she chooses this moment to bring it up. “About Peggy.”

Sharon nods in acknowledgment. She’s not sure whether _ ‘thanks’  _ is the appropriate response here. She reaches out, placing a hand on Natasha’s thigh, only for a moment before she draws back her hand.

Natasha glances at her briefly. “I would have called, but - I didn’t know if you’d kept your number.”

It’s a lie more than not. After the battle, Natasha had texted her with their code word and coordinates for where to meet her. Sharon had replied almost immediately.

Sharon nods again. “Rogers said you were at the funeral.”

Natasha’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, her knuckles turning white. She’s been trying to ignore the weight in the pit of her stomach, but it’s been gnawing at her. She knows that Sharon knows. Everybody knows. 

“I stopped by before flying to Vienna, to see if he’d changed his mind.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“I know. But I had to try.”

Sharon lets out a breath. “What if I hadn’t kept the number? If I hadn’t shown up?”

Natasha shrugs. “Good thing you did, then, isn’t it?”

Sharon doesn’t push. They fall silent and continue driving, taking turns so the other can rest. They stop for gas and to buy snacks, and by nightfall they’re in Košice. Another rundown hotel, another fake ID. 

Natasha is sat on the twin bed she’s claimed for herself, dressed in a soft white t-shirt and pyjama shorts, and toweling her hair dry when Sharon sits next to her and says, “I’d known long before SHIELD fell.”

She doesn’t need to say more than that. It’s the elephant in the room, and the reason Natasha had been actively avoiding her ever since she’d released all of SHIELD’s secrets on the internet - everything the organisation kept on file, including Natasha’s past with the KGB.

Natasha freezes. “How long?”

“Before we even worked together.” Sharon says softly. She takes Natasha’s hand in hers, intertwining their fingers together. “I’ve always known.”

Natasha puts the towel aside. She feels a tremor run through her and suddenly she’s shaking. Her voice, when she speaks, is barely audible. “How?”

“I looked at your files-”

“They were  _ classified- _ ”

“Yes,” Sharon nods. “I was given the passcode to the archive room.”

“Peggy?” Natasha asks, her head swinging to look at Sharon, eyes wide. 

“Yes. She wanted…” she trails off, and shrugs. 

“To warn you.” Natasha gets to her feet, letting go of Sharon’s hand. Tears form in her eyes and she scrubs them away with the heel of her hand.

“ _ No _ .” Sharon says immediately, in a tone that leaves no room for doubt. “Not at all.”

“Then why?” Natasha demands, spinning around to face Sharon, and giving her a harsh look. 

Sharon stands up and takes a hesitant step toward her. “She wanted to help, but she didn’t know how. I guess by telling me…she passed on that responsibility.”

“Responsibility,” Natasha repeats. Her tone is ice cold.

“If anything happened-” Sharon cries out then stops, takes a deep breath. When she speaks again, her voice is softer. “She didn’t trust many of the people left in charge of SHIELD. I guess she was right not to. But she could trust me. If I knew, I could be there. I could help.”

“Help with what?”

“I don’t know, Nat. I didn’t ask. She wanted someone to watch out for you. That’s all.”

Natasha scoffs. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Sharon slumps back on the bed, defeated. “I just meant - it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything. I just - I wanted you to know that. I know that’s why you never called, never texted. After you dumped all of SHIELD’s secrets on the internet for everyone to see.”

Something shifts inside her, and Natasha’s shoulders slump. The tension in her muscles fades away slowly. She can’t deny what Sharon’s telling her - it’s the sad, goddamn truth. Her fear of losing the respect of someone she cared about so much, after all her secrets were out in the world for anyone to see, stopped her from hitting ’send’ on her phone every single time. She’d delete the message and turn off her phone altogether. She was a fucking coward.

“We should sleep.” Natasha says then, carefully keeping her tone neutral. “I need to stop by the bank in the morning, but we can get on the road straight after.”

“Sure,” Sharon takes a seat on her own bed, to let Natasha lie down. “Where are we going?”

“I know a place in Romania. We can lay low while we come up with a plan.”

“The same Romania where the Winter Soldier was laying low?”

“Trust me.” Natasha says curtly.

Sharon pulls back the covers and climbs in bed. She turns off the lamp on the nightstand, and after a long moment of silence, she says, quietly, “I do.”

Natasha doesn’t reply. She turns to lie on her side, turning her back to Sharon, and tries to fight the tears that form in her eyes, and fails. It’s dark, the thick, heavy curtains blocking out the street lights. There’s the occasional car passing by, some sirens in the distance, but otherwise, it’s quiet in the room - too quiet. Natasha is willing herself to fall asleep. She’s tired, but wide awake; emotionally drained but physically alert, every muscle in her body taut, ready to spring into action. When, suddenly, the blanket is pulled back, and Sharon slides into bed next to her. She shuffles close and slips an arm over Natasha’s waist, her breath hot on Natasha’s neck. 

“Goodnight,” she whispers, and soon drifts off to sleep.

Natasha sighs softly and lets herself relax. “Goodnight.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**_MONTANA, 2011_ **

“I can’t believe I’m gonna die in goddamn Montana, of all places,” Sharon gasps, leaning her head against the concrete wall behind her.

Natasha works quickly, wrapping the cloth around Sharon’s leg and pulling it as tight as she can. There’s no exit wound, but there’s nothing around she could use to remove the bullet, so short term solutions are gonna have to do.

“I’m not gonna let you die.” she says, voice low. “At least, not on your own.”

“Yeah,” Sharon lets out a breathless laugh. “How’s your shoulder?”

“It’s been better,” Natasha finishes tending to Sharon’s wound and sits back, shuffling close to the blonde. She winces in pain as she tries to put pressure on the bullet wound in her shoulder. She’s lost a considerable amount of blood, given that it took them a while to find this hideout, and what a stroke of luck it was. It’s a utility closet, with no security cameras. As long as they keep their voices down, they’ll be safe until backup arrives.

“Where the fuck are you, Barton.” she mutters under her breath.

“Twenty bucks says he unplugged the phone from the wall and is currently napping.”

Natasha grins, despite the pain. “Or he forgot to turn on his hearing aids after the nap.”

Sharon laughs quietly then sighs. “I need a fucking holiday.”

“Don’t we all,”

“I’m serious. The minute we get out of here, I’m booking a one way flight to Tahiti.”

Natasha turns her head to look at her, raising her eyebrows. “One way? You’re not leaving me alone to deal with these incompetent morons we work with, are you?”

Sharon meets her gaze. “You’re welcome to join me.” she smiles.

“Why Tahiti?” 

“I don’t know. It’s the first place that came to mind. Do you have a better suggestion?”

Natasha hums, considering. “Bali.”

“Okay,” Sharon nods. “First Tahiti, then Bali.”

The silence is disrupted suddenly, with footsteps and bellowing voices, ordering the hostiles to get on the floor. There’s gunshots, and somewhere in the distance, a detonator goes off; glass shattering, and more voices, shouting in panic.

“Romanoff,” Natasha’s earpiece crackles to life with the familiar voice of Nick Fury. “Romanoff, do you copy?”

Natasha brings her hand up with some difficulty, and says, “I copy.”

There’s a relieved sigh, and then, “Where are you? Is Agent 13 with you?”

Sharon’s earpiece had fallen off earlier, after the unexpected blast that sent her flying, slamming her against the wall. Once again, she thanked her lucky stars that Natasha Romanoff was with her.

“Only physically,” whispers Sharon. “Mentally, she’s in Tahiti.”

Natasha bites back a smile. “Yes, she’s with me. We’re in a utility closet, in the basement. That’s as specific as I can be. Can you track us?”

“Not as precisely as I’d like.” Fury replies. “Stay put. We’re on our way.”

“Bring a medic,” Natasha manages to get out before letting her arm drop. She swears under her breath and closes her eyes, head resting against the wall.

Sharon watches her. “Hey,” she whispers. “C’mere,”

There’s a good chance she might be delirious, what with sitting in a pool of her own blood and all, but Sharon doesn’t think about that. 

She reaches out and places her hand on Natasha’s cheek, gently, like she’s afraid Natasha might get spooked and take off. Natasha looks at her, her expression steady, calm, even. It’s now or never, Sharon thinks, and leans over, closing the gap between them.

It’s chaste, a gentle press of her mouth against Natasha’s, but then Nat reciprocates, and their lips slot together like puzzle pieces falling into place. In her chest, her heart is racing, an erratic drum echoing in her ears, but for now, all she can do is relish the softness of Natasha’s lips, the warmth of her body next to Sharon’s.

They break apart moments later, a smile playing on Sharon’s lips, that is mirrored in Natasha’s expression.

“What was that?” Nat asks, voice soft.

Sharon shrugs, and says nothing. She leans in for another kiss, but then the door opens with a loud bang, making them both jump.

“Finally,” says Natasha, accepting the hand Fury extends to help her stand up.

Two other men help Sharon get to her feet, and take her outside where the paramedics are waiting. They tend to her wound, and then board the quinjet that takes them back to D.C. where, unfortunately, Sharon goes through several more physical examinations. Then there are the debriefs, and thorough cross-questioning, and when Sharon finally gets home, she heads straight to bed and sleeps for the next twelve hours.

She’s not expecting to see Natasha at her door, three days later. 

The redhead smiles and holds up the bottle of vodka in her hand. “You up for it?”

Without waiting for an invitation, Natasha crosses the threshold and heads to the kitchen, grabs a pair of glasses, then settles on Sharon’s couch. 

“Fine,” Sharon concedes. She grabs the orange juice from her fridge to have as a mixer. When Nat looks at her with a scandalous expression on her face, she gives her a one-shouldered shrug. “What? It waters down the taste.”

“I know. That’s exactly my problem.”

“Shut up and pour me two shots.”

Two hours later, she’s pleasantly warm, both from the stack of blankets she’s burrowed under, and the alcohol. Natasha is on the opposite end of the couch, curled up with her feet tucked under her body, and is looking at Sharon, her gaze lingering. 

“What?” 

Natasha takes another sip of her drink. “I think my alcohol tolerance is lower than it used to be.”

Sharon grins. “Good. Get on my level.”

“What’s your level?” Nat asks.

“A three,” Sharon stretches a leg out and pokes her friend with her foot. “Maybe a four.”

“Out of ten?” Natasha asks, and receives a nod in response. “Me, too.”

“I think I needed this. Thanks.”

Natasha tilts her head. “You’re welcome,” she says, her mouth curving into a soft smile.

They fall into a comfortable silence. At some point, Sharon turns on the TV and starts flicking through the channels, looking for something to watch, and some time after midnight, Natasha says it’s late, and she should get going. 

Outside the front door, she turns and looks at Sharon again, and in a moment of sincerity that surprises both of them, she says, “I don’t want to go.”

Sharon’s hand tightens on the doorknob, and her heart starts racing in her chest. She wills her voice to be steady, when she says, “Then don’t go.”

In a flash, Natasha has crossed the threshold and is standing right in front of her, their faces mere inches away, and she pauses for a split second before her mouth comes crashing down on Sharon’s own, open and expecting. It’s nothing like the first kiss; there’s a deep yearning, a thirst that can’t be quenched. It’s rushed and hungry and driven by lust.

Natasha shuts the door with her foot, puts her hands on Sharon’s hips and spins them around so she can push the blonde against the door. Sharon moans into the kiss, and it sounds pitiful even to her own ears, but she finds that she doesn’t care, because Natasha is kissing her, and her hands are in Sharon’s hair, messing it up, and this close, she can smell her perfume, rich and dark and dizzying.

She doesn’t think twice before pushing Natasha’sleather jacket off, and Natasha breaks the kiss momentarily to shrug it off, tossing it aside. She tugs at the hem of Sharon’s t-shirt and Sharon obliges, pulling it over her head and throwing it aside. They stand there, gaze locked on each other, and then they’re kissing again. 

“Come with me,” Sharon whispers against Natasha’s mouth, and grabs her hand, leading her down the hallway and into her bedroom. 

Natasha moves to close the gap between them, hands on her hips, knocking her backwards against her dresser; the nudge knocks something out of its place, and it falls with a gentle thud onto the carpeted floor, but neither of them care to interrupt the kiss to look for whatever it was. Natasha’s hands move slowly up Sharon’s sides, sliding underneath her coral red bralette, and sending shivers down her back. Sharon breaks the kiss with a gasp. 

“You’re really overdressed for this,” she says, and Natasha laughs softly, then pulls her blouse over her head and tosses it aside. 

“Better?”

Sharon looks up and eyes her with a smile. “Slightly,” she breathes, and moves in to kiss her again, nudging her backwards until she falls onto the mattress with a gasp, and Sharon climbs over her, straddling her lap with her legs. 

Natasha kisses her again, gentler this time, her arms snaking around Sharon’s waist to hold her as they kiss. Then, moving swiftly, she grabs her by her legs and stands up, catching her by surprise, and they fall onto the bed again, tangled up together. Sharon smiles and bites her lip. 

“Sneaky,” she breathes.

Natasha can’t help but return the smile, leaning down to kiss her again. She drags her lips down to Sharon’s jawline and nudges at it with her nose, and Sharon tips her head back, allowing Natasha to kiss her neck. Nat sinks her teeth into the soft flesh of Sharon’s throat, smiling mischievously at the gasp it elicits; her hands sneak down, disappearing under the waistband of Sharon’s sweatpants, and the world around her fades into darkness. 

Later, when they’ve done this again and again and again, and they’re utterly spent and breathless, they lie wrapped up in each other underneath Sharon’s heavy comforter. The first of the sun’s rays start peeking out from behind the clouds, as the night fades away and a new day begins. Sharon tries to fight the urge to fall asleep, even if she feels the exhaustion in every muscle and every joint; it doesn’t compare to the feeling of safety, of warmth and comfort, of being known and cared for, that she finds laying in her bed with Natasha’s arms around her. She can sleep later - for now, she wants to savour this, for however long it lasts. 

  
  
  
  
  


**_PRESENT_ **

Natasha makes a withdrawal request for the entirety of her Slovakian bank account, which apparently raises some questions and the anxious bank teller gets her manager involved. Upon seeing Natasha, the man offers his apologies and hurries to complete the transaction, and they leave with a briefcase filled with 50,000 euros.

Sharon has so many questions, but she keeps them to herself. They get on the road again and in a few hours, cross the border into Romania. Natasha suggests making a stop in Braşov, since they had a late start and won’t make it to their destination by nightfall. They get dinner, and find a cheap hotel to stay for the night, and in the morning they hit the road again.

“I still don’t know where you’re taking me,” Sharon says. 

“If I had a euro for every time you said that…” Natasha trails off, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards. 

Sharon rolls her eyes. She leans her head on the backrest of the passenger seat and puts her feet on the dashboard, crossing one over the other. She watches as they drive through the city, heading south-east. She reads the names of the towns and villages on the signs they drive past, her tongue twisting around the vowels and consonants. Her Romanian vocabulary is limited - hellos and goodbyes mostly, but Natasha speaks it as fluently as the other dozen languages in her repertoire. 

Three hours later, the car comes to a stop. Natasha looks around for a parking spot, and eventually pulls next to two other cars parked under the shade of some apple trees. She turns the ignition off and smiles at Sharon. “We’re here.”

Sharon steps out of the car and stretches with her arms above her head, breathing in deeply. They seem to be in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and not much else. The sign that welcomed them to the village read  _ Sărata-Monteoru _ . 

Natasha gets their bags and signals for Sharon to follow her. “This is as far as the car will go. We’re walking.”

“Lovely.” Sharon picks up the gym bag she’d hurriedly packed and follows the redhead uphill. 

At the top of the hill sits a gorgeous mansion with lemon-yellow walls and a red brick roof. Natasha leads them through the main entrance, heading for the reception desk. She speaks to the young girl at the desk and books a room for the week, paying in cash. The receptionist hands them a key with a heavy brass ring attached to it, and asks them to follow her. They go up a short flight of stairs and follow her down the corridor, stopping at the last door. She opens the door and welcomes them inside. Natasha speaks to her for a few moments, and Sharon leaves them to it. She sets her bag down on the floor next to the bed closest to the window and opens the curtains, taking in the view. Lush greenery surrounds the hotel, as far as the eye can see. From up here, she can see the little houses and shops they’d driven past earlier. 

“What is this place?” Sharon whispers to herself. 

“Not bad, huh?” Natasha’s voice startles her slightly. Sharon doesn’t dare to turn her head and meet her in the eye. 

“How’d you find this place?”

“Tripadvisor.”

“Right,” Sharon turns around, avoiding her, and falls on the bed. She runs a hand over the aged, flowery bedspread, and looks around the room. There isn’t much beyond the necessities, which are the twin beds, the nightstand situated between them, and a table on the other side of the wall with a TV that must be two decades old. There’s a full length mirror mounted on the wall next to it, and vintage sconces on every wall of the room.

“It’s kinda...quaint, isn’t it?” Natasha says, pacing around the room, arms folded under her chest. “Do you like it?”

Sharon nods. “I like the quiet.”

“C’mon, let me show you around.”

Natasha has been here before, Sharon realises as she lets herself be guided around the hotel. She wonders about the when, and with who; if she’d come here to escape, on her own, or if she’d brought someone else with her. 

Natasha leads her through the same entrance they came in earlier, and they walk around the outdoor eating area; wooden tables and chairs are arranged under a slanted roof, with several potted plants hanging in between the columns holding it in place. Further away, more tables and chairs under a different roof, all made from the same type of wood, a dark walnut. They walk around the main building, and out onto a large patio area, overlooking the forest that surrounds them. Natasha walks across the patio and stands at the edge, placing her hands on the wooden railing. Sharon comes up to stand next to her, following her gaze towards the large, rectangular pool on the floor below them, with two dozen bright yellow sunbeds arranged neatly around it. 

“So, what do you think?” Natasha asks, folding her arms around herself. 

Sharon looks at her for a moment. “How long can we stay here?” she asks instead. 

Natasha shrugs. “I don’t know. A week, maybe two. Depends how eager they are to find us.”

“I don’t think we’ll be their first priority.” Sharon sighs, stretching her arms over her head. There’s an ache in her shoulders, a weight that’s been wearing her down ever since she fled Berlin. She’s exhausted from being on the road, and wants nothing more than a full night’s sleep. “I need a shower.”

She turns and starts walking towards their room, then stops when she realises Natasha has their key. When she turns around, she sees Natasha standing there with her arm extended towards her, the key resting on her open palm. Sharon walks towards her and picks up the key, their hands brushing together momentarily. She hesitates for a moment; she wants to say something, offer words of comfort, but she comes up empty. Natasha turns away, and Sharon sighs again, shoulders slumping. Wordlessly, she turns and walks away. 

Sharon wakes up a few hours later to realise she fell asleep while scrolling through her newsfeed on her phone; her hair is still damp, but the towel she’d wrapped it in is gone. The room is dark, and there’s a blanket draped over her. The other bed is empty. Her phone is resting on the nightstand, plugged into the charger they share. 

Sharon sits up, pushing the blanket off of her and gets to her feet. She puts on her slippers and grabs the key before she exits the room. She finds Natasha sitting on one of the sunbeds, her gaze fixed on the water moving gently with the breeze, catching the moon’s shine in its miniscule waves. 

“How did you sleep?” Natasha asks when Sharon takes a seat next to her. 

“Not bad.” Sharon answers simply. “You should get some shuteye. Aren’t you tired?”

Natasha laughs, though it’s humourless. “When am I not?”

Sharon nods slowly. “Sometimes I think you were born for this,”

“For what?” 

“This life,” Sharon explains. She looks down at her hands, fiddling restlessly. “You do it so effortlessly.”

Natasha is quiet for a moment. She turns her head slightly, a smile playing on her lips, but she doesn’t quite meet Sharon in the eye. “It’s the only life I’ve ever known,” she whispers. 

Sharon shuffles closer to her, and leans her head on Natasha’s shoulder, who reciprocates in turn, tilting her head slightly towards the blonde. The moon shines in the cloudless sky above, and if she closes her eyes, Sharon can imagine they're in Tahiti, or Bali, or Bora Bora, and instead of the sound of the pool filters, she can hear the sound of the waves crashing along the shoreline. 

“It doesn’t have to be,” she whispers some time later, when the conversation is all but forgotten. 

Natasha doesn’t respond. Sharon lifts her head and shifts so she’s sat facing her. “This life. Lying and hiding and cheating. There’s more to life than this,” she sighs, looking down at her hands on her lap. “I think…there could be more.” 

The redhead shakes her head, a slow smile creeping upon her face. “Some sins are unforgivable.”

“Nat, I’m serious.” Sharon reaches out, clasping Natasha’s forearm, and making her meet her gaze. “I don’t know how we’re going to get ourselves out of this mess, but…” she hesitates, biting down on her lip. “I’m not scared. We’ll be fine. I mean, it’s us, isn’t it?”

Natasha closes her eyes as they fill with tears. She brings her other arm up and takes Sharon’s hand, freeing her arm of her grasp and holding her hand, intertwining their fingers. “I…” she trails off, her voice shaky. 

Sharon seizes the opportunity before it slips away. She shifts closer to her and brings her hand up to Natasha’s face, cupping her face, and leans in slowly, pressing a soft kiss to Natasha’s mouth. She goes to move away but Natasha’s hand on her neck stops her, and they kiss again, slowly, savouring the taste of each other. They break apart moments later, but stay close, foreheads touching.

“You really mean that?” Natasha’s voice is low and raspy. 

Sharon smiles. Her heart is fluttering in her chest. In all the years she’s known her, this is probably the most honest and open they’ve ever been with each other. When there’s no moves left to make, your only option is to lay your cards out on the table, and hope for the best. 

“Yeah, I mean it. Just as long as you promise me…” she trails off, struggling to find the words. 

Natasha moves away, and their eyes meet. “I promise. Whatever it is you want...I promise it.” She says, and the confidence with which she utters those words breaks something in Sharon, and she laughs as her eyes fill with tears. 

“I’m all in, Nat. Promise me you’re all in?” she asks, extending her pinky finger. 

Natasha’s smile stretches from ear to ear. She hooks her pinky finger around Sharon’s, then grabs her neck with her free hand, and brings her closer so she can kiss her again and again and again. 

“All in.”

  
  



End file.
